1

October 17, 2003

The beautiful young woman sits all alone in her large spacious room, with all of the luxuries that a girl could ever want, staring out of the window at the empty yard below her. That yard reminds her of all of the many sad years of her childhood that she felt were wasted. Other kids in the neighborhood have yards half the size of hers yet they had triple the amount of fun that she never had.

All of the children in the neighborhood had parents that bought them spinklers and water guns in the summer time so they could have aquatic fun on hot, humid days. In the fall there were bright colorful leaves that could be raked into piles and that the other children could spend hours running through and jumping into. In the winter, if the snow was bountiful and the right, powdery consistency, there were inevitably the snowball fights and snow forts being built. Many a snowman, with a scarf and a carrot nose, resided in the neighborhood until the bright, blistering sun came out to  melt them all away.

Sadly, this girl was never able to do any of those memorable things.  She did not have those childhood memories to look back on and remember fondly whenever she looked out at the perfectly manicured green lawn. Her father was a very wealthy yet very vain and prideful man. Oftentimes he placed way too much pride in the things in his possession, including his only child. Everything had to be immaculate at all times, from the grounds of his home to his unhappy child.

When she was only seven years old she had begged and pleaded to be allowed to make a snowman.  The town had been blessed with a record four feet of perfectly wet white snow. Other kids were allowed to spend all day making their masterpieces and she wanted to join in and play in the snow as well.

However, instead of getting to play and build her own special masterpiece, she was made to stay inside and practice the violin and the piano with her father's cold admonishment echoing in her ears. She could only dream of spending time with others while laughing and having fun.

When asked why she was never allowed to play in the snow, she was told that snow tracks dirty water in the house and that it turns muddy and ugly if you play in it. She often heard that walking on the wet ground destroys the grass and messes up the yard. Her father stated that it was not lady-like for little girls to tromp around the yard like a wild animal. Did she want to be a lady or a wild animal?

Had she answered honestly she would have said 'yes', that she would have much prefered to be a wild animal. There are many animals that live much happier lives than she does. For example, a bird. A bird is able to spread its wings and glide through the beautiful skies or else perch and enjoy the world around it. 

The girl would be so much happier as a bird. Flying to some warmer climate in the winter but coming back in the Spring to nest high in a tree, among the bright green leaves. Seeing the world from high in the sky or pilfering around on the ground. Feeling the wind whipping past you as you soar through the clouds was a dream that she often dreamed.

Then again, maybe she would have chosen to be like a wolf, living alone in the woods or up on a mountain. Wolves could stay still or play in the snow all day, howling at the moon come night time.  She thought about being alone to do as she pleased or joining a pack when she gets lonely and wants some company. There are so many animals that she would prefer to be; rather than being the girl stuck in the big house at the end of Cherry Street.

Now that she is no longer a child, she is still just as stuck as she has ever been. Her father just told her that he has found the perfect man for her to marry. A business associate's son. She seriously doubted that her father had her best interest at heart, he knew that the marriage would lead to a great merger.

Combining the businesses would be lucrative for all of them and she would be married to the CEO of a new company. He provided her with this information as if she should be happy about the news. After all these years he still has no idea why she isn't falling at his feet with words of joy and gratitude. Her father just doesn't get it because he never understood her and apparantly never will.

Her father knows nothing about people wanting to live a normal life. He thinks that she should be happy to be used as a pawn in his proverbial game. Being the fact that she has a very wealthy father should be all she needs, according to his warped sense of parenting. To him a child shouldn't yearn for love or affection since such trivial things are beneath him and he thinks that his daughter should be above them as well.

“Abigail..”

What she happens to find the most ironic is that her father made his fortune by owning a large toy store franchise and multiple toy manufactoring plants. Yet, he thought that proper little girls and boys should not play with toys, so it was very rare that the little girl got any toys for gifts. A person would think that the owner of such a bountiful business would provide his sole child with everything imaginable. However, in her case, nothing. She mostly received new clothes if she was gifted anything. There were some birthdays and Christmas days that weren't even celebrated, they just passed as any other uneventful day.

“Abigail!”

She turns with a start to face the woman in the doorway. With her sleek black dress that stopped at her knees and showed off her perfect figure, she looked amazing. The cream and black colored heels that were impractical for all day wear and the pearls around her neck gave away just how wealthy the woman was. She brought new meaning to the expression 'looks like a million bucks'.

Her blonde hair was curled to perfection and she had just enough make-up on to look flawless. Her blue eyes and plump lips were her best features and the make-up accentuated them to perfection. At forty-two, Abigail's mother was still a stunning woman. Abagail thought that her mother was by far the prettiest woman, yet like herself, she was very unhappy and dissatisfied with her life.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Your father has left for the office. I thought that maybe you would like to go out around town and get a coffee with me.  Maybe we could do a bit of shopping while we are out?” Denise asks hopefully. "Make a day of it, perhaps?

“Sure, Mom. I would love that.” The girl gives one last longing look at the yard before she turns to smile at her mother. “Just give me a few minutes to get dressed and then I will be ready to go.” She was thinking that no matter what she did she wouldn't measure up to her mother in looks nor appearance.

“Okay, dear. Just find me when you are ready and we will leave.” With that said, Denise leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Abigail Kensington goes to her closet and sighs. She rolls her eyes, not for the first time, at the sight of her limited clothing options. Black or navy blue pencil skirts, black, navy or cream colored slacks and various sweaters in black, blue or an array of beige or cream tones. Typically wealthy people like the Kensingtons have a huge wardrobe with multiple colors to chose from, all matching of course. 

Plain dresses in various dark colors and conservative styles. Richard Kinsington had a personal shopper go into the store and buy the most boring and basic clothing that she could find. Honestly, nuns have more exciting clothing options than this, Abby thinks to herself, and they wore habits! 

She has one or two white dresses, but no white shirts. They are deemed immoral and immodest, because you can see the outline of a bra through it. That is apparently cheap and vulgar and highly distasteful. One step above being a satanist, in her father's eyes. Abby smiles at the thought of how he would react if he were to come home one day and find her in a pair of blue jean shorts and a white tank top. He would probably have a heart attack on the spot.

With a deep sigh, Abigail grabs the cream colored skirt and the black silk top. She pairs it with a pair of short, black leather booties and a black diamond bracelet. In front of the mirror she brushes her strawberry blonde hair until it falls in a silky sheath down her back.

It is naturally curly but her father hated how unruly the corkscrew curls would get, so he made her go have relaxing treatments done on her hair against her will. Thankfully it never got as straight as he wanted it to be. It still falls in loose waves down her back, which she keeps maintained in order to avoid his wrath. It is far easier to go along with his demands than it is to go againt them. He is cruel in his punishments, and she definetely knows first hand. 

Looking in the mirror, Abby tries to smile but it looks unnatural. What does she have to smile about? So letting it fall away, she grabs the mascara and brushes a coat on her lashes. Her green eyes are her favorite feature on her body. The only drawback is that they came from him. She used to wish for her mother's blue eyes, just because she didn't want anything in common with her bastard of a father. She grew out of that though, kind of.

Swiping at her lips with a nude gloss, she feels that she has done the best that she can. She is not allowed to wear much make up, because her father deems it as trashy. As long as it looks natural though, he does not argue or demand that she remove it. He just gives her a glare then goes on about his day, which is the way she prefers it. She learned long ago that she would never get his approval so she stopped trying.

Now that she is dressed suitably, she leaves her room in search of her mother. She finds Denise in the parlor room, but she is not alone, as Abigail expected. Sitting with her is a middle aged woman with short brown hair and a severe scowl.Sitting on the loveseat is a guy in his early twenties with brown hair and a cute enough face. She thinks to herself that this is probably another attempt to pair her off.

He is wearing tan pants, a white shirt and a navy blue blazer over it, with a loosened navy and tan tie. He looks as if he is wearing a prep school uniform and Abigail has to hold back a snicker at the thought. Surely to goodness he is out of school. Had he considered dressing in a different outfit or is he so unoriginal that he needs the routine of a uniform?

“Oh, Abigail. I am glad you could join us, dear. Please meet Mrs. Sterling and her son, Brody.” Denise says. Turning back to face the woman, she says in a strained pleasant tone. “This is my daughter, Abigail.”

“I am pleased to meet you Mrs. Sterling.” Abigail says with a forced smile. “And you as well, Brody.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Mrs. Sterling says in a bland tone, making it quite apparent that she finds no pleasure whatsoever in the meeting. Same, lady. Same.

“Nice to meet you.” Brody says in a bored tone. He never even looked up from his phone to address them. He has yet to look in her direction once, which annoys Abigail, but there is nothing she can do. She is used to the snobby, rude and inconsiderate Brodies of the world.

“Your father invited them over to join us for lunch, as a way for us all to get to know one another.” Denise tells her daughter in an apologetic tone. She knows that this puts the squash on their planned outing. Oh no, and its too late to feign an illness to get out of this luncheon which is guaranteed to be horrific.

Of course Richard would never think to inform them that he had done such a thing so that they might be prepared for it. No, he would much rather have his wife look incompetant, no matter how much it embarrasses her. That gives him something to bitch about while he is on the golf course with his associates, bemoaning how hard his life his. It is so hard on him having a dimwitted wife and a disappointment for a daughter. If only he had married his college girlfriend. He would probably have a couple of sons that are chips off the old block. That is his favorite thing to say because he knows exactly how bad it hurts Denise and Abigail to hear it. Then again, he never considered their feelings.

“How lovely.” Abigail says. She considers joining her mother on the settee but cowardice wins out, so she gives her mother a smile. “If you will excuse me for a moment, Mother, I will join the three of you soon.”

Denise looks ready to argue but she ends up giving a curt nod to her daughter. She understands how hard all of this is for Abigail and she tries to spare her from any  more discomfort.

If Abby's father were here, she would be forced to sit in the chair, with her back upright and a fixed smile on her face. Nodding and joining the conversation only when spoken to, otherwise sitting there as a decoration. But Denise is different. When Richard isn't around, she tries to make up for his harsh treatment of Abigail. That is why Abby loves her mother so dearly. Without her father in the picture, Denise would have probably been a funloving outgoing mother and Abigail would have had a different childhood altogether. 

Leaving the room as quietly as possible, Abby makes her way to the kitchen. Her mother has already informed the staff of the need for a rushed meal, so she finds Irla at the stove, slaving away. “Do you need any help, Irla?”

“Oh no, ma'am. You should be with your mother, entertaining your father's guests.” Irla admonishes her gently.

“I would much rather help you.” Abigail tells the woman, wrapping a thin arm around her plump shoulders.

Irla has been with the family for fifteen years, as housekeeper and cook. She even acted as a sort of Au Pair to Abigail when she was a child, whenever Richard would demand Denise's company to an event or on a business trip out of town. Irla was more that just an employee, she was a friend and beloved family member to Abigail. 

Abigail loves Irla dearly, sometimes feeling as if she were the only person in the world to truly understand her. Irla has been there for all of Abigail's heartaches and tragedies. She loved her unconditionally through them, to which Abigail is eternally grateful.

“So how is Mandy doing at college?”

Mandy is Irla's daughter who is just a year or so older than Abby. They used to play together as kids when Irla would sneak her over, on some of Richard's numerous trips away. Mandy and Abby had become great friends. Abby hated when she went off to college, but they stay in touch via f******k and texting as much as they can. They had the type of friendship that you didn't have to see each other every day to maintain. It was just always there, the love and affection that they felt for one another, laying dormant but not forgotten.

“She is doing great. She and her roommate hit it off, so now she has a friend at school and I don't worry for her so much. Last year, her freshman year, her roommate was such a witch. That girl made her miserable. Her first year of school was a living hell, but I feel like this year is going to be so much better for her.” Irla tells Abigail. I sure hope that things look up and she gets to enjoy her college years. 

“I remember some of her horror stories. The girl did sound like a terror. Is Mandy going to be able to come home for Thanksgiving this year as well?”

“She hopes to. But she had to get a job to help pay for her living at school, so she might have to work. I hope she comes home. I only got to see her for a few weeks this summer and it was nowhere near enough. I miss my baby.” Irla's eyes water and Abigail wraps her arms around her in a hug. "I don't think I could wait until Christmas to see her."

They discuss Mandy and college life for a while longer, before the jealousy gets to be too much for Abby. Abby always dreamed that she would get to go off to college and escape her fathers demands, but of course that did not happen. After that the focus shifts to the meal being prepared by Irla.

 A roasted chicken, artichoke hearts and spinach salad with cranberries and walnuts  is what they managed to make within the small fifteen minute time frame. Abigail rushes to set the table while Irla plates the wonderfully delicious smelling food. Then Abigail goes to the parlor to join them, sitting herself beside her mother just before Irla comes to announce the meal.

Denise smiles at her daughter. “You have a cranberry on your shoe.” She whispers quietly to the girl, with a knowing look.

Abigail flushes and grins at her mom. “Oops.” Using her other foot, she rearranges her legs so that she is able to brush it off with the toe of her other shoe, before anyone else notices it as well. 

Denise chuckles quietly to herself. Both women stand up to escort the Sterling duo to the formal dining room. Lunch is a morose affair, with Denise trying to make polite conversation with the woman but Mrs. Sterling makes the meal even more awkward and uncomfortable by giving terse replies. It is apparent that they do not want to be here any more that Denise and Abby want them to be. 

Brody finally looked up from his phone and was seemingly struck by how beautiful Abigail was. He spent the rest of the excruciating meal staring at her, but not speaking a word. Abigail mostly stared at her plate, made uncomfortable by the presense of the Sterling family. She already knew without a doubt that she did not care for them. Mrs. Sterling reminded her far too much of her father and Brody, put simply, was an idiot. He appeared to be a puppet on a string that was controlled by his mother. 

Just as they finished the meal and she thought she would be free to retire to her room, they hear the front door slam open and the sounds of heavy footfall approaching in loud, angry clomps. 

“Denise!” An angry voice bellows through the home and Denise immediately jumps to her feet as if she were a cat scalded with boiling water. Abagail shutters knowing the tyrant is home and in a foul mood.

Rushing from the room, she can be heard greeting her husband in soothing tones. She is clearly trying to calm him down before he makes even more of a scene. Even if he is the one making a spectacle of himself, he will still take the anger of his embarrassment out on his family.

“Oh dear. Richard sounds upset.” Mrs. Sterling says, showing the first sign of interest she has had all day.

Abigail wanted to be sarcastic and ask the woman when is he not, but she bites back the retort. Instead, she merely excuses herself and moves towards the door. She hears her father yelling at her mother.

“No, I am not okay. We couldn't make payroll! Over two thousand employees weren't paid. There was a mass walk out in the factories and stores. The factory with the highest output is predictably the one that is shut down. It is a fucking mess!”

“Richard, calm down, please, dear. Remember your blood pressure.” Denise cajoles but Richard snaps at her in return.

“Shut the hell up!”

Abigail can not stand to listen to any more and she moves back towards the table. Brody smiles at her but she can not muster up one in return. She can tell that Mrs. Sterling is straining to catch sounds of the argument. Nosey witch. Abigail feels a resentment building up inside of her as she watches the woman. This seems to be bringing joy to the hard hearted Mrs. Sterling. 

Abigail nearly jumps out of her chair when she suddenly feels a cool hand on her exposed leg, brushing at her inner thigh. Cutting her eyes quickly to Brody, she finds him leering at her. Her skin crawls and she pushes her chair back quickly, standing up abruptly. The motion knocks his unwanted touch from her body, to which she is happy. He simply smirks at her, enraging her.

Smug bastard, she thinks with a rush of fury. She thinks just what she would like to say to him and it would not be appropriate words for a lady to say. However, she is opening her mouth to let him have it with both guns when she hears the bellow.

“Abigail!”